


The Beach at Losgar

by soitgoes2142



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Burning of the Ships at Losgar, Gen, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 13:05:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7846174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soitgoes2142/pseuds/soitgoes2142
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the beach at Losgar, Macalaure watches his brother stand aside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beach at Losgar

They gravitated towards their father, as they always did, when their duties were done. When there was nothing left to unload from the boats, and the people were looking to them for guidance--the land under their boots foreign and wild--the sons of Feanaro were pulled to him like iron filings. No one who knew him would deny that Feanaro was a magnet.

They all assembled around him in a loose circle. Not all, only six, Macalaure amended. Pityo was helping unload the ships that had come ashore farthest from their father's. Macalaure looked around at his brothers' expectant faces and knew that they felt the same mix of adrenaline and uncertainty that coiled in his stomach. They had an enemy to face, a new world to explore, a force they needed to strengthen and multiply, but they did not know how to begin. Their father was the expert at charting unknown territory: in metal working, in linguistics, in oratory. In defiance, in rebellion. In bloodshed. They looked to him, children again.

And as when they were children, Nelyo spoke for them. The tallest, the eldest, the heir. "The ships are nearly empty, the last of the supplies are being brought to shore as we speak. Now, what ships and rowers shall we spare to return, and who shall they bring hither first?" When their father said nothing, his eyes dark with thought, Nelyo prompted eagerly, "Findekano the valiant?" At that, their father, who had acknowledged their presence but continued to pour over ancient maps of Beleriand he had brought from the annals of Tirion, raised his head and spoke firmly, coldly. "None and none! Let the ships burn."

There was a silence. Macalaure saw Curvo's eyes widen, though the change was almost imperceptible. Pityo drew in a breath and Tyelko cracked his knuckles nervously. Moryo shook his head slightly as if to clear it. Nelyo's face had been wiped of all expression, the flush of exertion draining from his face so that his freckles stood out against his pale skin.

There was a moment when they did nothing, said nothing. In their house, there was no dissent against their father, and none against each other (at least within his earshot). The very divisiveness he courted with his own half-brothers, Feanaro did not stand for among his sons. He could quell an argument between his children with one look, in one breathe. "Tyelko, get the dog away from the harp." "Ambarussa, go play outside, not where Nelyo is studying." "Moryo, breathe." "Curvo. Apologize."

He expected loyalty.  
He expected unity.  
When you were metal, you did not disappoint the magnet.

When he began the Oath, they all rose and the words flowed out, smooth as honey on their tongues. They found their father's mind and spoke as one. Together, their souls were bound to the Silmarils, to the Everlasting Darkness, to the battle against Moringotto. When their father raised his sword against the Teleri, they did not shirk from their duty. They waded into the battle until the sand was stained red, at his command, acting on his orders. They saw their father stand tall and proud and unbowed before the Doom of Mandos, and took their cue. They went on. And now he told them the ships would burn.

There was a moment when they did nothing, said nothing.  
A moment when they did not obey.  
Macalaure could feel it.  
Something hung in the balance. Perhaps, if they spoke out now--

And Nelyo did, not calling for kindling or fire starters. In tight voice, he said, "Father. Burn the ships? Leaving Nolofinwe and his host stranded on the other side? They have done nothing to deserve such treatment."

Macalure's eyes flitted between his tall brother and his father, who had looked up from his maps. "Nelyafinwe. Hold your tongue. I have thought about the issue at length, and I do not trust Nolofinwe as far as I could throw him. The ships will burn." Feanaro closed his book with a snap, punctuating his words. But Nelyo--the peacemaker, the diplomat--would not back down. He kept his tone respectful and even, though Macalaure could tell it was costing him. Their father preferred to listen to reasoned, logical arguments. That is, when he cared to listen. "Nolofinwe has been nothing but loyal to you. Even after Arafinwe turned back, after Alqualonde, he and his people--a larger force than ours, one we need to assail the Enemy--continued on to Araman."

Feanaro was shorter than his eldest son, but when he took a step forward, Nelyo shrank back. He bowed his head slightly. It was the eyes, probably, that fiery light of Feanaro's that propelled him where no others would go. Their father's voice took on a different quality when he spoke next. It became the one he used on the public, the one that set minds ablaze and blood pumping. It was from his father that Macalaure had inherited his own powerful voice.

"What you see as strength I see as danger, my son. Nolofinwe's people are those who would not follow me, would not follow us, to Formenos. They forsook their King, Finwe who brought them to the light of the Trees, for my devious, usurping half-brother. I do not want them on my side. I do not want them guarding your backs, standing between us and the most powerful and cunning Vala of them all, when they have proven treacherous." Their father's eyes were shining with that fell light, a brightness, a sheen, that prompted some who looked upon him to whisper, “Genius.” Those less charitable hissed “Madman.” "The sons of Indis were brought up to love and honor the Valar. Nolofinwe and his kin have the blood of the Vanyar in their veins, who sit at the feet of our oppressors and sing praises to their benevolence. They can return to the gilded cage of Aman. The Valar are welcome to them."

Their father, pleased with his oratory, perhaps considering using it on the wider public, turned away from Nelyo, whose hands were balled into fists. Feanaro began issuing orders to his other sons, ignoring his eldest completely, having rebuffed Nelyo's argument to his satisfaction. "We need torches, all the accelerant we can find." The other brothers unfroze, obeying the authoritative commands. It was force of habit. "Tyelko, go fetch--"

"You don't understand!" Nelyo's voice rang out fiercely, louder and angrier than before, cutting across Feanaro. "There are those among the Nolofinweans who long for freedom and vengeance as fiercely as we do." Macalaure saw him draw in a shaky breath, and continue, almost desperately, "Father, please. We leave them at the mercy of the Valar, but also the Teleri, who may hold all the Noldor accountable for what we have done. We could be leaving them to die." Their father fell silent. A ripple of anger passed across his face. Macalaure felt as if a stone had settled in the pit of his stomach. "Enough, Nelyafinwe! I am going to distribute torches with the help of my captains. When return, I expect my sons to be ready to carry out my orders." Feanaro's gaze flashed around the circle of his children, resting momentarily on Macalaure. He heard his father's voice in his mind even as Feanaro retreated down the beach. Get your brother under control.

The five younger brothers descended on Nelyo, who was left alone in the center of their little circle, his opponent having left the field of battle. "What do you think you're doing?" "Father never--" "Nolofinwe deserves..." "You know we can't show weakness." The tall red head only grew more agitated as the cacophony of his brothers' voices rolled over him. "Quiet!" Nelyo snapped eventually, drowning out their protests. He spoke beseechingly to each in turn. "Think of who is on the other side, waiting for us to return. Tyelko, Curvo--what about Irisse? Macalaure, who will sing with you if not Findarato? Pityo, Arakano has always--" "Nelyo," Curvo hissed, his face--so like Feanaro's--tight with urgency. Perhaps that similarity was what made Nelyo fall silent momentarily. "His mind is made up. There is no changing it." "No, no, no....there must be something we can do. We can't stand for this. It is going too far." Nelyo ran a hand through his hair, a mannerism very reminiscent of their father. That comparison probably wouldn't be welcome at the time. Moryo contributed darkly, "We already have gone too far. There is no turning back." Pityo spoke up. "Maybe it's for the best. Father and Nolofinwe would only fight. At least our leadership will be consolidated." "Under a person who would abandon his own people, his own family!" Nelyo cried.

Macalaure knew he had to do something as his younger brothers quarreled and his proud older brother paced agitatedly along their strip of sand. He reached out for Nelyo's mind, sending calming thoughts, but also probing for the source of his anger, his anguish. As he touched his brother's familiar thoughts, an image rose up out of a whirl of emotion: FindeMacalaure's face, blood stained and tear stained. The sound of the rushing surf, kneeling in the sand. Freckled arms holding FindeMacalaure as he convulsed with silent sobs, Nelyo trying to scrub the blood stains from his friend’s palms---

A mental wall went up so forcefully that Macalaure had to take a physical step back. Nelyo whirled on him, angrier than ever. "Get out of my head, Macalaure!" He raised a hand to his temple. "You too, Curvo!" Their little brother's face soured. Curvo retorted sharply, "You're deluding yourself if you think Findekano has any real loyalty to father, or to our cause," He must have seen what Macalaure had seen. Nelyo responded heatedly, "He fought by my side at Alqualonde. He killed for us, Curvo! And now father wants to leave him and all his family with nothing but ashes." "Still, Findekano did not kill for father," Curvo said coldly. "He did not kill to reach Beleriand. He did not kill to defeat the Enemy. He killed for you, Nelyo. Because he knew you were in the battle." Macalaure had not thought it was possibly for Nelyo to go paler, his lips thinner with suppressed rage. "You know nothing about Findekano! Nothing about me, about us, don't speak about what you don't understand!"

Then Tyelko leapt to defend Curvo, and Moryo took Nelyo's side, and Macalaure tried to calm them all down, glancing down towards the shore, while Pityo hovered on the outside of the scrum, torn and indecisive.

So their father returned to mayhem. He was not happy. He held several torches in his arms, enough for all of them. But when he found his sons arguing, Feanaro let the torches tumble to the ground and clapped his hands once, sharply. They paused mid-thought, mid-shout. That had been their mother's trick to get the attention of her rowdy boys, back when they were small. Feanaro's eyes were hard and bright, shining with that inner fire. His sons fell into line before him. "It is time. We will burn the ships and show our people that we are strong, worthy enough to challenge The Enemy on our own and emerge victorious. We need no treacherous, Valar-loving, foes in the guise of friends." Macalaure cut his eyes towards Nelyo. He could not see his brother's face. His brother's mind was as shut off and distant as Macalaure had ever felt.

Feanaro bent and picked up a torch from the pile at his feet. "Nelyafinwe," he said, savoring the name, the word. "Third. Well, second now, second in line for the throne. For you are my firstborn and my heir." Nelyo had his eyes trained on the ground. Macalaure still could not see his face properly. The cold weight in the pit of his stomach had not disappeared. Feanaro held out the torch. "Take it, my son. You will start the burning of the ships."

Their father's punishments could be harsh. Disobedience had always been a terrible transgression in their house. But Macalaure knew that his father had crossed a line, in the moment before Nelyo cracked. Maybe because for the instant he touched Nelyo's mind, he had experienced the confused swirl of emotions that nearly bowled his brother over when he saw Findekano's face.

Nelyo's head snapped up.  
"No," he said, to their father.  
That was not what you told Feanaro.  
It was so quiet you could have heard a single iron filing fall to the floor.

Nelyo's eyes were burning, too. "I will have no part in this!" He spat. "You fear betrayal, but you are the betrayer, how do you not see that?" Nelyo was shaking slightly, with anger pent up and now released. His next words reached a new pitch, a frenzied height of emotion. "This is not what Finwe would have wanted for his sons! If I knew grandfather, he is turning in his grave! And your mother, our grandmother...if you do this, she will wish she never gave up her life to bear you!"

It happened so quickly Macalaure didn't see it coming. He doubted Nelyo did. Maybe even Feanaro didn't see what was happening until it was too late. But their father's hand flashed out, and he struck his eldest son across the face.

More from shock than from actual pain, Macalaure thought, Nelyo staggered backward. But he lost his footing in the sand and dropped to the ground, his long, lanky body confounding him. There was a flurry of movement. Pityo cried out, though Nelyo made no sound. Tyelko took a hasty step forward and then hovered there uncertainly. Curvo took a hesitant step back, some emotion flickering across his face. Moryo and Macalaure knelt beside their brother, kneeling in the sand. Nelyo looked up at them. His lip was bleeding. Their father's ring had left a small gash there. Their father's hand had left an ugly red flush on his pale cheek.

Across from his sons, Feanaro too was wide-eyed. He cradled one hand in the other, as if he could not believe the right one had acted to impetuously. Never, never, never--not in their childhood, not in their adolescence, not in their adulthood--had Feanaro hit his sons. But there Nelyo was on the ground.

Moryo and Macalure helped their protesting brother to his feet. He shook them off as soon as he was upright. Their father spoke. "Nelyo, I must apologize--" "The worst part isn't that you betrayed your kin and your people," said Nelyo harshly. "It's that you have made a betrayer out of me. Thanks to you, I have abandoned my dearest friend in all of Arda. Broken to a promise to one who has ever only shown me trust and given me joy. I cannot sway you, but I will not obey you. I will stand aside." Then he spit in the sand. It was tinged red from his bloody lip. Nelyo turned his back on them all and walked away, out across the beach.

Feanaro cleared his throat roughly. They didn't know what to say to him. They weren't sure they could look at him. But they knew resistance was futile. Magnetism is a force of nature, a law of physics, as immutable as the poles of the earth. Their father picked up the torch again, the one Nelyo had refused. "Macalaure," he said. Macalaure looked at his father. There was a dangerous light in his eyes. There was no refusing it. Nelyo had tried, and look where it got him. Wandering alone on the beach, with a mouth full of blood. It was a fate Macalaure did not want to share. "Take the torch."

Macalaure took hold of it. 

He felt his brothers watching him as intently as he himself had watched Nelyo.  
"Let the ships burn," he said, his voice ringing out loud and clear and melodic.

Feanaro smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> Feanaro=Feanor  
> Nelyo=Maedhros  
> Kano/Macalaure=Maglor  
> Tyelko=Celegorm  
> Moryo=Caranthir  
> Pityo=Amrod  
> Telvo=Amras  
> Nolofinwe=Fingolfin  
> Findekano=Fingon


End file.
